To Deteriorate
by Way-Up-In-The-Skye
Summary: They're up on the surface, but truth be told, they never really escaped the pit.


_So this is what we've become, huh?_

Now that they're in college, Annabeth and Percy have a routine, precise to the last hair. In fact, Annabeth is willing to bet that somewhere in the countless scars that mar her body, amid the dying curses of all the foes she's faced, there lies instructions on how to follow that routine. The greatest curse from the greatest monster of all. And it probably goes something like, This is how you're going to live the rest of your life:

_In the morning, you're going to wake up Percy, carefully. Sometimes he'll give you a drunken grin, and pull you back down to him in a brief kiss. But sometimes he'll forget he's safe now, and even his half-awake battle skills are sharp, so be ready to dodge._

Either way, it's the only part of the day that feels normal to Annabeth.

_You won't open the curtains of the house, (generously given to you by the roman praetors to use whenever you want) because even though you desperately try to forget all the memories of the pit, ever since you ascended from the depths, everything seems too bright. And it doesn't seem fair that you get to see the sun, when Bob and Damasen, who pined for the sun longer than you will ever live, will never see any of the stars again._

Even though his eyes have not changed in color, Annabeth knows they've lost their vitality.

_You'll eat breakfast in silence. Neither of you wants to remember the terror of last night, or the night before, or the night before. At the very least, Percy still dyes his pancakes blue, so one thing about him hasn't changed, hasn't deteriorated._

At least when they're alone, neither of them has to pretend.

_But when you leave to go to lectures, both of your performances will be Oscar-worthy. You'll walk through New Rome, your arm around his, his around yours. It's not as comfortable or as safe as standing back-to-back like you both would like, but it's close enough. It almost feels like a dream, how safe it is. How everyone seems to have forgotten what it's like to constantly fight for your life, to go on quests, to be in constant war. And demigod dreams always end badly, so you're waiting to wake up._

Annabeth almost wants to wake up and be back in the war, so at least she'll have an enemy she can fight.

_Small children will smile at you, hope filling their eyes. They all know who you are. Their parents have all told them the legend of the Seven, especially Annabeth and Percy, who went to Tartarus and back, who woke up the earth with a leg cut and a nosebleed respectively. They revere you, silently worship your bravery_.

Annabeth doesn't feel much like a hero, these days.

_You smile back, and wonder if it's their generation who will fall victim of the next Great Prophecy. You wonder if they'll be the kind of hero that lives to save the day, or the kind the dies trying. Honestly, sometimes, you wish you were the latter. You wonder how long it'll take for the gods to rip that hope away and burn it to ash._

Annabeth feels like she should warn them, but she received no such warning.

_Once you reach the university, it'll physically hurt you to part ways with Percy, but, studying architecture was never his thing. So you separate, almost as terrified to leave him alone as you are to be alone. You have friends, sure, but the only person who knew the horrors of the pit, who had walked through what you have walked through, is on the other side of the campus. He's the only person you really trust now, and the feeling is mutual for him._

Annabeth sometimes still sees the twelve year old boy that passed out on the porch of the Big House. Most of the time, she sees a death-mist version of Percy who falsely wears his skin.

_Sometimes you help Reyna and Frank work out camp schedules and design obstacles for training and war games. It reminds you of home, of Camp Half-Blood in the good, nostalgic way, and that's enough to keep you from ever wanting to go back there, because you've seen it go up in flames so many times, you don't know how to look at the place when it's whole. So you left._

Annabeth doesn't have to ask Reyna why she hasn't stepped down even through she's completed far more years service than necessary in the legion.

_Reyna knows you're in pieces, but doesn't say anything. Piper tries to help occasionally, but knows better than to push. You lash out when you're pushed. Reyna, at least, knows it's better if you work it out on your own, even if you aren't working it out at all, it makes you feel better to kid yourself. Usually, though you just lose yourself in textbooks. Math is a coping mechanism, who knew?_

Her textbooks are written in Ancient Greeks, but her eyes still go fuzzy when she reads them for too long.

_Night, ironically, is the best and worst part of the day. You and Percy cling to each other shaky and hungry, eager to forget, eager to feel something that doesn't hurt, something you want, more, more, more of. It doesn't burn or cut. It's mind numbing and if you had the energy or time, it would be all you ever do. You should be skilled by now, you and Percy have plenty of practice. But it isn't inexperience that makes your hands shake, that make him fumble. Neither of you wants to be able to see in the dark as clearly as you both can._

Annabeth arches her back in pleasure, trying to push off the pain. She knows that it'll creep its way back in later but right now... Oh...

_You try to sleep, and oh, you'll sleep. And wake up. And sleep. And wake up. You take turns waking the other up in cold sweats from night terrors. Demigod dreams have always been awful. But the longer you're away from Tartarus, the worse they become. Sometimes you swear you hear the spirit of chaos whispering in your ear, and you fear you'll become like Luke. But instead of being consumed by bitterness, you'll be consumed by madness._

Annabeth's heart longs for Luke sometimes, now that she understands better how manipulated she's been. How they've all been.

_More than anything, you're going to spend every day wondering if it's ever going to get better, or if one day it's going to be so bad that you're going to decide to end it all, go back, and meet Tartarus again, like the sick masochist you've become._

Annabeth knows that they never truly escaped. Tartarus has won this battle. Their hearts are still beating, but he still vanquished them.


End file.
